tick, tick RENT!
by prying.delilah
Summary: That's right, the combination of tick, tick...BOOM! and RENT! TTB situations with RENT characters. You know you want to. Combination of preduringpost RENT.
1. Chapter 1

_tick, tick…RENT!_

These stories are based on two musicals by Jonathon Larson. The main ideas/plots are taken from _Tick, tick…BOOM!_ and the characters are taken from _RENT._ I don't own either of these musicals.Certain lyrics are taken from _tick, tick…BOOM!_ and are in no part owned by me. The book _Tommy's Tale_ is written by Alan Cumming and is not owned by me.

Recommended Listening: _tick, tick…BOOM!_

**Track 1:30/90 or Tommy's Tale of Birthdays**

Collins tried to focus on correcting the forty-two term papers in front of him, but in the background he couldn't help hearing the ticks of the clock.

Tick…tick...tick…

In exactly three minutes, he would be thirty. His parents had made a tradition of wishing him happy birthday at the exact minute of his birth ever since he was a little boy. He'd sort of hoped they would grow out of it, but they never had.

"8:36 and 30 seconds, 8:36 and 31 seconds…" Collins had given up his pretence and began the countdown, wishing that there was a way to stop the clock.

At precisely 8:39, his phone rang.

"Oh Tommy! Thirty!" his mother's voice rang through the phone. "How do you feel?"

_Like I want to lay down and die,_ Collins thought darkly. "Great mom," he lied.

"Hello Thomas," his father said in his deep baritone. "How's my son doing?"

Not running naked through the Parthenon or seducing college boys…at this exact moment anyway, so you'd be proud dad.

When his parents finally let him go, Collins walked the two steps that brought him into the kitchen and found a bottle of Stoli. Sighing, he opened it and took a deep drink.

What was it about turning thirty that made him want to cringe? Turning twenty had been fun! Why couldn't he have just stayed 29?

Back before Collins exclusively dated college boys who majored in Philosophy, he'd dated a kid who majored in Psychology. The kid…his name was James? Jamie? Jonny? Whatever his name was, he drove Collins nuts, constantly psychoanalyzing everyone he came into contact with. After they'd broken up, he'd diagnosed Collins of having a 'Peter Pan' complex and had even smashed a Tinkerbell figurine through one of his windows. Four years and a discreet restraining order later, Collins was ashamed to admit that his observation might've been correct.

But what was wrong with not wanting to grow up?

Collins laughed a little as he took another drink. Dying, he wasn't afraid of. In all honesty, he should be ecstatic that he'd _made _it to thirty. Others with HIV hadn't been so lucky.

But he didn't want to be old. He wanted to be young forever, never betraying his age.

Damn his conflicting feelings.

And what exactly did being thirty mean? That he should finally start to do grown up things like stop smoking marijuana or quit pretending that vodka could solve everything?

Or maybe he could put all that off until forty.

Yes, Tommy decided, relief rolling off of him in waves. If he made it to forty_ then_ he would start being a grown up. Until then, he was fine.

Next track: _Green Green Dress_, the first meeting of Mark and Maureen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Track 2: Green Green Dress or How Green Affects Mark**

There was something about green that Mark found irresistible. It was strange, but when a woman wore green it drove him wild. Celadon, malachite, mint green, moss green, olive, olive drab , it didn't really matter. In fact, Mark would've betted that he knew more shades of green than actual different colors.

He was in line at the grocery store when a woman, a gorgeous woman with rich brown hair and sparkling eyes came behind him carrying a small basket of feminine products and a bunch of frozen dinners.

Mark didn't notice any of that though, he was transfixed by her dress.

It was a deep green, viridian to be exact, velvet and form fitting…

Mark hoped to God that he wouldn't get a hard on in the middle of the mini mart.

"Can I go in front of you?" the woman asked. "Less items," she said, holding up her basket.

"Oh, sure!" Mark replied, a bit too eagerly, daring a subtle peek at her breasts encased in the lovely colored fabric.

They switched positions and Mark went back to staring.

The line of buttons down the back of her dress taunted him.

One…

Two…

Three…

Mark could imagine himself undoing the buttons one by one…

Fuck it, he was getting hard.

"Uh, excuse me?" Mark drudged up some courage. He couldn't let this one go. "My name is Mark. I was just wondering if you wanted to give me your number or something?" That was smooth. She probably thought he was a stalker.

But she didn't run away screaming, instead she looked at him hard as if appraising him. "Okay," she said at last, taking a slip of paper and writing on it. "Maureen," she said, shaking his hand.

A tingle ran up Mark's spine. He couldn't help but thinking that this would be the start of a beautiful relationship.

He also couldn't help wondering if she had some emerald lingerie.

**RTTBRTTBRTTB**

**Really short I know, but I'm having some technical difficulties. The next one will probably be short as well, but soon, Track 5 is rather long.**

**Next track: Track 3: Jonny Can't Decide or Benny Can't Decide An inside look to the Benny/Alison relationship.**


	3. Chapter 3

**So…school started again. How come no one told me sophomore year is twenty times harder than freshman? Ugh…high school and me…love/hate relationship. **

**Track 3: Jonny Can't Decide or Benny Can't Decide **

"I just want to know, where is this going?"

He should've expected it. Women did not just stay around indefinitely, waiting for something that might never come. They wanted-no, they needed security. They craved to know that the six, ten, fourteen months they'd invested into a relationship would eventually pay off. Without that, they ran.

"Alison, baby, I love you."

Shit. He hadn't meant to say that. It was true enough though, now that it was out. He did love her. Not her wallet or her daddy's connections, her.

But he loved his life, he loved getting up each morning and taking pictures. And even if they _didn't_ ever get picked up by a magazine or anything, he still loved doing it. He loved spending time in his crappy apartement with Roger, Mark, Collins and even, on occasion, Maureen.

And loving Alison meant leaving them.

Not to mention, he wasn't even sure he was _ready_ to be married. Did he really want to give up his freedom, his dreams for _Alison_?

For the woman I love, he corrected himself.

Why did everything have to be so hard?

"And?" Alison prompted. "You love me, terrific. But what does that mean?"

And what? He loved her, shouldn't that be enough?

Could it be enough?

Enough to abandon his dreams?

Enough to betray his friends?

Enough to keep him faithful?

Love's not a miracle worker, he thought dismally.

But would it be enough to convince him he'd done the right thing?

"Ben?"

"Alison-I don't know-"

Her face began to crumble and Benny was powerless to stop it. "Baby, it's not that I don't love you, it's just-"

"Ben, I really don't need to hear your excuses, I really don't. When you decide what you want, call me. Until then-"

"It's just, I have dreams baby! I want to make something of myself!"

"Don't you think I have dreams too? Or are you the only one here with goals? Just because I have money doesn't mean I don't want to achieve _something_ meaningful! It's just," she paused and calmed herself. "I don't want to tether myself to you if you're just going to put me off till someday. That's _not_ part of my plan."

She stormed out of the room, closing the door forcefully behind her..

BABABABABABABABABA

Benny didn't tell anyone about what had happened. A week passed and he didn't talk to Alison, didn't see Alison, didn't do anything.

And the whole time, he felt like he was dying.

He picked up the phone gingerly, almost not trusting his fingers to dial properly. One ring. Two rings. Three rin-

"Hello?"

Hearing her voice was like drawing in a fresh breath. "Alison?"

"Ben?" she asked, almost unsure of who she might've been talking to. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it is. Meet me tonight?" he asked in a rush. "At Vincenzo's," her favorite. It would take all the money he'd been saving for new equipment, but it didn't even matter. "At eight." He hung up before she had a chance to refuse.

She lit up the entire restauraunt when she walked in, making his subway ride from hell worth it. She sat down awkwardly, her emotions already pouring through her eyes.

"You didn't have to do this," she waved, indicating the room. "I know you've been having money problems…what about you're camera?"

"It doesn't matter," Benny said smoothly. "All that matters is us."

"Ben, I'm sorry."

"For what?" he took a sip of his water, genuinely interested in what she had to say.

"I should've never done that, given you that ultimatum. It was wrong of me, I know that. I can't push you into something you don't want-"

"Sh…" Benny took her hand in his and rubbed small circles on the back of it. "It's okay. This time, this week has taught me something."

Alison looked up, her eyes boring into his. "And what did you learn?"

"That I'm nothing without you. And I know what I want now."

"And what do you want?" she asked, her breath hitched in her throat, already knowing what was to come.

"You. Alison Grey, will you marry me?"

"But what about your dreams, your life-"

"I love you baby, and that's enough."

Benny hoped to God he was telling the truth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Track 4: Sunday or Why Mimi is a Dancer and Not a Waitress**

"_Cold _water!" the woman spit up the tiny amount of liquid she'd braved. "All I asked for was _cold _water, without ice! Is that _really_ so hard?"

"I'm sorry ma'am," Mimi breathed as an apology. She whisked the water away and sneaked a subtle look at the clock.

It was only six, she still had two more hours on shift. She couldn't help releasing a groan. Gritting her teeth in determination, she went back into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, we don't take deliveries on Sunday," Jed was explaining into the phone.

_Great, just what I needed, a reminder that I'm working on a Sunday, _Mimi thought darkly.

At least the place was packed, maybe she'd get some decent tips. There was something about brunch that seemed to reel people in.

Jed finally got off the phone, but only to yell at them.

"I needed a table for two yesterday!" he shouted.

As if it were _her _fault people were slow eaters.

"Go out there and move some people!"

Mimi sighed. The cook put out two plates and rang the obnoxious bell. "Table Seven," he said, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Mimi wished some of the ash would fall on the food, just to spite the customers. "Table Seven's mine," she said to a nearby redheaded waitress. "Not that I know where the hell table seven is. Why the fuck are they named anyway, just say 'the table by the window."

"There's a good reason the tables are numbered honey," Jed said, overhearing the conversation. "You just haven't figured it out yet," he finished, whisking away.

Mimi and the redhead giggled. "Well, I've got two hours to figure it out. Would you stick this in the freezer to me?" she handed her the glass of water that hadn't been up to par.

"Sure," the girl agreed. "And by the way, table seven's the one next to the register."

"Thanks," Mimi said gratefully, picking up the plates and heading out.

She found the table and set the omelettes down on the table. She was turning away when the woman began to speak.

"Excuse me miss-"

_Here it comes,_ Mimi thought. She threw on a smile. "Yes?"

"I distinctly asked for a Western omelette," the woman said, wrinkling her nose with distaste at the food put before her. "This is clearly a Denver omelette."

_Maybe you should've eaten at home if you're such an expert._ But Mimi didn't say that. In fact, she didn't have time to.

"Where's my cold water?" asked the woman from before, tapping her acrylic nails against the cheap plastic table.

"My poached egg on toast?"

The voices were surrounding Mimi, drowning her in a sea of old people's complaints.

"Shut up!"

She never remembered saying the words, but she remembered hearing them. Unfortunately she didn't stop there.

"I don't know the difference between a Western and Denver omelettes, if there is one. The ice cubes we're NOT using to cool your water is probably shoved up your ass, and who the fuck eats a poached egg on toast?"

Silence.

Mimi whipped off her apron, threw it at table seven and stormed out.

_Oh well,_ she thought, walking down the street. _There's always dancing._


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's more! Thanks for the review and yes, _There's a Good Reason These Tables are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Figured It Out Yet _is a song by Panic! At The Disco. One of my favourites actually.**

**Track 5: No More or Real Estate**

_Ping!_

_Ping!_

_Ping, ping!_

"Ugh," Mark groaned, getting up from his bed. He'd just managed to fall asleep and now this. He went towards where he'd heard the noise…it sounded almost like rocks or something against glass…

Maureen.

He trudged to the fire escape, grabbing a set of keys on his way. As he'd predicted, there Maureen was, not even having the decency to look sheepish.

"Forgot your keys again?" he asked, brandishing the set he'd picked up.

"Maybe," she shouted back up, her breaths coming out in short little puffs. "Throw down the key will ya?"

"One day," Mark muttered to himself more than to Maureen, "I'm gonna live in an apartment with an actual buzzer."

"Yeah, whatever pookie, just throw down the keys. I'm freezin' my ass off."

Begrudgingly, he threw them down, watching to make sure she got safely inside.

"You should really be more careful," he said when she got back up. "You could've gotten raped or mugged or-"

"God, I'm sorry I woke you up Daddy. If you're so concerned about me, why are we living in this shit hole anyway?"

Mark honestly didn't know.

RMRMRMRMRMRMRM

"Why do we need a new apartment?" Roger asked the next morning over his bowl of cereal. "I like this one fine," he said, this time his mouth full.

"Roge, five people living in a two bedroom apartment isn't exactly ideal," Mark reminded him. "And besides, everyone else has already agreed."

"Yeah, but does anyone else have to go house hunting _with _you?"

"No," Mark admitted. "You're special. Now let's go."

RMRMRMRMRMRMRM

"The shower is in the kitchen," Mark whispered to Roger as they toured the fifth apartment of the day.

"I can see that," Roger whispered back. Clearing his throat, he turned to the real estate agent. "Um…is that shower…decorative by any chance?"

"Decorative?" she asked. "Uh, it's the only one the apartment. What an interesting location, don't you think? Very creative and just perfect for those who live such an…" it seemed she was having trouble grappling for a word that could describe the way Mark and Roger lived life, "an interesting lifestyle."

"Right," Roger said, pulling Mark away from the woman. "Um, could we have a second to think this…_tempting_ offer over?"

"I guess," the woman shrugged, "though I should tell you that this place is likely to get scooped up like a hotcake."

"We'll try to keep that in mind," he said as he dragged Mark outside the door.

"It's horrible!" Mark cried.

"It's not that bad…"

"Roger, we climbed over ten sleeping people before we even made it inside. I know, I counted!"

"Pshaw, it wasn't that many. Seven, maybe eight tops."

"I'm not moving here!"

"May I remind you that you aren't the deciding vote in this decision, Benny, Maureen and Collins have a say too."

"I know I speak for Benny when I say no. And while Collins is open, I doubt he'd relish in the lack of buzzer the next time he tries playing a crazy sex game with one of his students," Mark insisted.

" We don't have a buzzer now," Roger said practically. "I'm sure he could manage. And besides, what kind of sex game involves people outsi-oh," he stopped. "Never mind. So you say no?"

"Yes I say no! The point is to find a _better _apartment than we have now, not worse. The shower's in the fucking kitchen Roger! Picture this: Me, filming you yelling at Collins for getting water on your cornflakes!"

"Cap'n Crunch," Roger corrected as he conjured up the image and quickly waved it away. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"I know," Roger sighed. "But it's so cheap!" he said, looking wistfully back.

"Is that all you ever care about?" Mark asked in an incredulous tone.

"Yes," he replied seriously as they began walking back inside.

"Hey Roge, if the shower is in the kitchen, where do you suppose the toilet is?"

RMRMRMRMRMRM 

"I didn't even know that a place like this existed around here," Mark said appreciatively as he looked around the lavish apartment.

Roger let out a whistle. "It is something."

"Yes, and here is the master bedroom."

"The _master_ bedroom," Mark wiggled his eyebrows. "I wonder which one of us would be getting this one."

"Maureen," Mark said darkly.

Roger pushed Mark aside and went further into the room. Flinging open a door, he stared at it, perplexed.

"I don't get it," he said finally. "It's too big to be a closet and too small to be anything else."

Mark came over. "Hello walk-in closet…" he said approvingly.

"Why the hell would someone need a walk-in closet?" Roger asked grudgingly.

"Are you two done in there? I want to show you the kitchen!" Marcia's voice cut through the air.

"Is that a butcher block table?" Mark asked, running his hand over the surface. "Oh I've always wanted one of these!"

"Because you cook," Roger snorted.

"If I had a butcher block table I would!" Mark said indignantly. "And if we had money for food," he added as an after thought.

"How much is it?" Roger asked, his mind always on the price.

RMRMRMRMRMRM

"It's okay," Roger said as he walked Mark out of the apartment. "We don't need a dishwasher. I like the way you do dishes."

Silence.

"And those parquet wood floors? Way too easy to ruin. Tile suits _me _just fine."

Still nothing.

"And anyway, the second apartment wasn't _too _bad. I've always wanted to live in a loft. It's sort of exotic, don't ya think?"

Mark nodded slowly. "Goodbye to dear Mr. Doorman," he narrated into his camera solemnly. "It's a shame, I could've gotten used to this."


End file.
